You Can Go Home Again
by IntrepidSpacemanSpiff
Summary: Set during 6x17: The End. "An eternity seems to pass before she manages to choke something out, '...Charlie'". When Claire needs a little more convincing to board Ajira 316, she receives a visit from someone she's longed to see and find closure with.


The blonde sits on the beach, watching the surf crash against the shoreline. She sees the sailboat floating in the distance, tethered to nothing, being battered by the waves. Her figure doesn't move, but she's been watching a pair swim from the boat to reach the beach and when she sees just who exactly the pair is, her muscles tense.

A brunette reaches the shoreline first, and climbs tiredly to her feet, followed closely by a man. Kate. Sawyer. The two of them stumble forward slightly, before the long legged brunette spots the blonde who is seemingly staring into nothing.

"Claire?" Kate yells, not quite believing her eyes.

The echoes of her Friend's voice whisper in her mind.

_She took your son, took Aaron and just left._

The Island shakes again, rocking Claire and sending Kate and Sawyer to their knees. The man turns back to look at the god forsaken Island that had become his home, muttering something that Claire can't quite catch over the sounds of the surf and the whine of the jet engine powering up in the distance behind her. She can guess what he's commenting about though, as she watches The Island crumble before her eyes.

"Claire," Kate runs up to her and falls to her knees in front of her. "Are you okay?"

No, she thinks. I haven't been for a long time.

_Too right, Claire. What would you be leaving to? How could you take care of anyone now, let alone your son?_

The whine of the jet engine behind her grows louder and there's a feeling in the air that grows heavy around her. Claire can see the desperation in Kate's and Sawyer's eyes.

He stares down at the two women on the sand, a glare on his face and worry in his voice. "Come on, we got to go! Come on!"

Kate rises to her feet, "Claire! Come on, please!"

"I can't!"

_No, of course not_.

The brunette steps forward as if to physically shake Claire, "Why!"

_Because she took your son and left you for dead, Claire, and then left you behind again on that dock. How can you possibly think of going anywhere with her?_

Claire grits her teeth and finds the strength to ignore her Friend. A strength she didn't know she had until she saw Jin lying on the jungle floor below her, and thoughts of sea urchin offerings, kicking babies, and all the good times she had forgotten and long since buried during her three years of isolation came rushing back. Charlie...

"Look at me!" and once she starts, Claire can't help but let all her insecurities tumble from her mouth. "This Island's made me crazy. I don't want Aaron to see me like this! I don't even know how to be a mother anymore."

_Pathetic, Claire._

Kate is in front of her again and takes her hand, "Listen to me. None of us do, not at first."

_But _you_ did Claire, until she took your child away._

"But you're not alone, let me help you." Kate pleaded.

Claire pauses and looks down at the sand. She understands what Kate is saying, but the doubts still ring in her mind. The noise from the jet engine grows louder, and the sound of the waves pounding the beach is nearly deafening. She wants to shut her eyes and just forget about everything. She can't do this. She can't, she can't, she can't-

_Yes, stay Claire. You're mine._

There is light, and then there is nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>You Can Go Home Again<br>**

**By: IntrepidSpacemanSpiff**

* * *

><p>Claire looks up to see if she is still on the beach when she doesn't hear the waves anymore. They are still there, only frozen, suspended in space. She looks at Kate, the other woman's expression stilled in careful optimism. The Aussie looks up and to her left, to see Sawyer towering over the both of them, a look of desperation on his face that she's never seen before. She gently tugs her hand out of Kate's, still marvelling and also unnerved at the fact that she is unmoving. Looking all around her, Claire is startled to see that <em>everything<em> is in a sort of suspended animation.

There is nothing. No sound, no smells, no wind.

Even her Friend is quiet.

She moves down to the shoreline, observing the frozen waves. The blonde reaches out and touches a particularly high surge, and almost giggles at the sensation of water droplets across her open palm, the water displacing wherever her hand moves. They tickle her, and she's sure that if she hadn't been living by herself in the jungle for three years, she would be more sensitive to the movement. Claire closes her eyes and breathes in.

No. It's not nothing, she thinks, correcting her earlier thoughts.

Nothing is an absence of feeling. Instead, there is a sense of peace and calm that envelopes her in a way she hasn't felt in a long time. Opening her eyes, she swipes her hand across a wave, watching the water part before her and laughs, _really_ laughs for the first time in a long while.

"Pretty cool, isn't it?"

Claire turns her head around so fast she's sure something has tweaked. Strands of her blonde hair, now paler and grimier than when she first came to The Island, fall out of the messy ponytail she's put up. She knows that voice, that Manchester accent and inflection. She's able to recognize it anywhere, despite not having heard it for three years.

Charlie. Clean shaven, devoid of scars and alive.

"I mean," he continues. "I've done this before, yeah? Just, it's never happened before, this weird, frozen thing. It's kind of neat, actually."

There's something in her throat she can't swallow past. A million thoughts race through her mind and she can't vocalize any of them. An eternity seems to pass before she manages to choke something out.

"...Charlie?"

"'Lo, love."

Claire stares, and something tickles at the pit of her stomach from the way Charlie is speaking to her.

"It's not you," she mutters. "It's not you."

"It _is _me. In the flesh," he cracks a sad smile. "Well, not really, but you get what I mean."

There are too many things going on in her mind, in her _heart_, for her to laugh. He seems to notice and the smile lessens somewhat, but his eyes have never left her this entire time. A blush rises to her cheeks from the way he stares and Claire wants to cry.

"Claire?" he asks softly.

"Yeah...?"

"Want to go for a walk?"

She doesn't respond, _can't_ respond to such a ridiculous request.

A walk, she thinks, now of all times.

He takes her silence as approval and walks down the remainder of the beach towards her. Her breaths come quicker now, her heart pounding in her ears. He's right before her now, and Claire doesn't know what to do with herself. She wants to pull him close, hit him, take his hand, kiss him. Charlie moves for her and takes her hand. Their fingers intertwine naturally, as if they've been doing it for years and Claire has missed this _so_ much – something that felt right. He tugs at her slightly and her feet follow him automatically. Her heart is absolutely pounding in her ears now, and she's certain if she placed her hand on the side of her head she could feel the blood flowing under her skin. There is a pressure, a feeling welling up inside of her.

"Wait—"

He keeps walking.

"Charlie, hold on—just—" and she wrenches her hand from his, instantly regretting it as his warmth disappears.

He stops and looks at her, his brows furrow in amused puzzlement.

"You died, Charlie."

"Yeah," he nods. "I did."

"I don't—" Claire starts and then stops, not knowing where to being. "I just—"

She settles herself, slightly. "How are you here then?"

He shrugs, and runs a hand through the hair that is shorter than she remembers him by. "I just am."

"What—Charlie, I don't understand."

"I'm here. I've always been here. Sometimes I go away for a little bit to talk to some of the others, but I'm here most of the time. On The Island. With you. I've been watching you for a long time now."

Claire doesn't know what to say.

Charlie continues, sarcasm dripping in his tone. "That didn't come out creepy, _at all_."

And in spite of herself, she giggles. He steps closer to her once again and all of a sudden, Claire can't bear the thought of him looking upon her. Not with her looking like..._this_.

Her eyes go to the ground. She steps back, arms curled around her body. She sneaks a peak up and her stomach drops when there's a look of utter disappointment on Charlie's face.

"You, uh, you said you sometimes go away?" she asks, diverting attention elsewhere.

He's quiet for a bit, seemingly lost in thought, before he responds. "I take little trips, sometimes, off The Island. It's like this force that compels me to do something, and I then I go do its bidding, like Vader to Palpatine."

She lets the Star Wars reference pass, but she's interested now. "What do you do?"

"It depends," Charlie answers. "But I was mostly trying to bring those that left The Island back. I went to see Hurley a lot."

"Did you ever...?" and Claire is afraid to finish her question.

"Yes, just once."

She's glad that even after all this time, Charlie still somehow manages to be able to read her.

"...is he–" she asks.

"He's beautiful, Claire," he sighs, and for the first time since he's appeared in front of her, Charlie stares at her sadly. "He looks just like you, his nose and his mouth. His eyes...it's just like looking at you. But knowing that you were still back here by yourself, that you weren't there raising him...I just couldn't bring myself to see him again. Kate...she's doing a good job, but it's not the same."

There's relief, and Claire feels as if she can stand a little straighter. For as much as she trusts Kate, hearing the belief and confirmation of her son's well-being from Charlie does wonders.

"Thank you," she says. For everything, she wants to continue saying, but just can't voice it.

He smiles, and it reaches his eyes. He reaches down and takes her hand in his again and she finds that she doesn't mind it as much this time around. There's so much she wants to say to him, she just doesn't know where to start.

"You have to go back, Claire," Charlie says. "He needs you. He's always needed you."

A small sob escapes her and a tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away in embarrassment. She clutches onto his hand. "Is this why you're here now?"

"I've always been here Claire."

Anger.

"Always!" she can't believe what she's hearing and the old pattern of yelling at Charlie rears its head before she can stop it. "Where were you when we came back from the radio tower? Where were you when we were attacked at The Barracks? When all I had was an empty crib and my Friend whispering at me all the time!"

Her hand is clutched so tightly around his that her knuckles have turned white. He doesn't seem to feel it however and instead steps closer to her and cups her cheek.

"I was there, all those times, Claire. I was there when you were lying in the wreckage of that house, I was there when your "Friend" convinced you to leave your baby. There when you found our jar at the beach.

"I tried so hard to talk to you each time. To touch you, or at the very least have you see me. But I couldn't, and I didn't know—still don't know—why. And it broke my heart each time, Claire."

She leans into his touch and hears him sharply draw a breath.

He leans forward and for a second, Claire thinks he's going to kiss her. Instead he puts his forehead against hers. His closeness causes her to blush and Claire can't help but feel like a teenager again.

"I missed you, Claire," he whispers.

They're quiet, enjoying each other's closeness. This is an intimacy neither of them has had for a long time. Her eyes are closed, but she can feel his gaze on her, roaming all over her face – eyes, nose, cheeks, lips. Her earlier embarrassment over her appearance is gone. She just wants to savour this.

"I can't leave Charlie," Claire reaches up to cup his face in her hands, running her thumbs over his cheekbones.

He closes his eyes, relishing in her touch.

She smiles sadly, even though he can't see. "You know why I can't leave."

"You have to, love," he opens his eyes and mirrors her expression. "You need to go back."

"Why?" she pleads with him. He understands her insecurities, worries, and fears...doesn't he?

He stares into her eyes, contemplating his next words. Claire feels as he can see straight into her soul, and she bares it all.

"Do you still love your son, Claire?"

She snorts, as if questioning his sanity in asking such a question.

"Then that's why you need to go back. Your son needs you, Claire! He needs you to be there for him now and when he grows up. He needs his mum to get relationship advice from, to dance with at his wedding." His voice rises slightly as he grabs onto her shoulders. He looks her straight in the eye and Claire blushes in shame and looks away.

"He won't even remember me, will he?" she asks him.

He takes her chin between his fingers and turns her back towards him, "But if you love him, that won't matter. All you need is love."

Claire giggles despite the situation, "The Beatles, even now?"

"Always," he grins at her and she does the same.

Charlie takes her hand for a third time. She leans in towards him and places her head against his shoulder. They start off down the beach again, a comfortable silence surrounding them.

"I can't do this alone, Charlie." She whispers.

"You won't be alone. Kate will help you."

"...Kate."

"Yes, love?"

She's quiet, deep in thought.

"I needed you, Charlie. And you weren't there."

He makes a sound in his throat. "I know, love...I'm sorry."

She feels guilty for making a dead man apologise for the sacrifice he made for them all. But it had always been so easy for her to break him like that. He had always wanted her approval, _craved_ it.

"Did—did you know you were going to die...when you swam down there?" she asks quietly.

They walk a few more metres before he responds.

"Yes."

"Why do it then? Why would—why would you leave us...?"

Why would you leave me, she thinks. _How_ could you leave me?

If I had known, I would have never let you go.

He squeezes her hand as he responds, "So that you would get rescued."

The simplicity of his answer breaks something inside of Claire, and she falls to her knees suddenly.

"Love, hey—Claire, it's okay, Claire. I'm here. I've got you." He takes her in his arms and holds onto her tight and Claire can't bear to do anything but grasp onto him like a life line.

For a second she can't breathe. A current of emotions sweeps her up and all of a sudden she realises that this is quite real. He's actually here and holding her after being dead for three years. She can't quite believe it but she can touch him, feel him, and smell him. He's real, and he's still the same. He's still the same Charlie that did everything and anything that she asked for. The same Charlie that woke her up to a surprise picnic that she ran off from at her fancy. The same Charlie that _died_ for her three times over before the final attempt on his life succeeded; still warm, kind, sweet..._loving_. The guilt that she had tried to bury for three years sneaks up on her and ambushes her tired soul. She shivers and her breath catches in her throat.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Charlie!"

"What?" he laughs and grabs her by the shoulders so that he can see her face. Claire ducks her head so he can't see the tears starting to form in her eyes. "What are you sorry for?"

"Everything!" she bites out. She looks up and over Charlie's shoulder, afraid to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry for taking you for granted, for making you do all those things for me...pushing you away...for not appreciating you—"

She chokes, and pauses to collect herself. Her eyes shift to her hands wringing each other in her lap.

"I thought that I had so much more time...that we both did. But I never thought—I'm...I'm sorry I h–hated you, even for the tiniest bit...I'm sorry I..."

Her voice drops to a whisper and she swallows a lump in her throat.

"I'm sorry I never loved you like you deserved to be loved."

She's learned to though, she hopes. But it's come at a price she wishes she never had to pay. She opens her mouth to say something but finds that she can't muster the words.

Claire raises her eyes to meet Charlie's gaze, hoping to see his reaction. She is greeted to a smile on his face that is so cheerful yet poignant that her already broken heart begins to shatter.

"I never," he pauses, eyes shining and voice think with emotion. He licks his lips before continuing. "I never blamed you for that, Claire...for any of it, really. I—you saved me, you know? You made me want to become more than what I was when I crashed onto this Island. From the first moment I ever saw you, you saved me. Even if it meant you never..._felt_ the same way about me—it was enough...it was good enough for me."

She doesn't think she can hear anymore, or even say anything after that, so she does the one thing she has wanted to since she first saw him again; Claire leans forward and kisses Charlie with all her heart, her entire being. It is different from the other times they've kissed; it is neither sweet nor tentative like the first time after the hatch explosion–but it isn't lacking from the same kind of feelings. It isn't like the lust fuelled ones they've stolen in the dark of the night in her tent after Aaron is finally quiet, but she savours the feel of his lips, his hands around her waist and the way his fingers trace her bare skin beneath her shirt makes her shudder all the same.

Her fingers trace their way up his arms and soon find themselves on either side of his face, her palms cupping his cheeks. Opening her mouth, she pushes her body into his, trying to pour all her feelings and longings that she`s held on to over three years into something she hopes he will sense; _I`m sorry...I need you...I love you, I will always love you._ All too soon, it`s over and she pulls back to look into his eyes and sees it, his understanding. She laughs and smiles through her tears. She knows that it's nearing the end and her mind has finally been made up. She's tired of living with regret so she says the one thing that's been haunting her the most ever since he went down to The Looking Glass.

"I love you, Charlie," she manages to sob out between god–knows–what is going on in her heart right now.

He smiles and looks at her in pure adoration, "I love you too, Claire."

Charlie stands up and pulls her up by her hand.

"Come on, let's start heading back."

Their walk back is quiet and comfortable, but Claire dreads every step that brings her closer and closer to Kate and Sawyer's frozen forms. Their fingers are intertwined, hands swinging between them like when they used to take moments for themselves and walk up and down the beach. Before long, the pair finds themselves standing in the same spot by the tide where she first saw him.

Claire turns and looks up at Charlie. She doesn't have to tell him that she's decided to go back, she's sure that he can see it in her eyes. She only wishes that they could stay like this longer, having the world and _time_, just to themselves. It is breaking her to choose between the two most important men in her life, but she knows that in the end, it was never really a choice to begin with. She takes his face in her hands and stares deeply into his eyes, hoping that he can see that this is killing her.

"You, Charlie Pace...you and Aaron were the best things to ever happen to me. Don't ever forget that...don't forget me," she pleads.

"How could I?" he asks bewildered.

Claire nods, both to herself and Charlie, before pushing herself up onto her toes and kisses him again. This kiss is sweet, warm, longing and full of love. There is a sense of peace to it as well, and Claire is confident she will finally be able to remember him as the loving man that he is, rather than memories filled with regret and guilt.

She bites her lip and looks up at him, wondering how much more of this she can take when she finds that he's not quite as _solid_ as he was before. A bright light begins to creep into the edge of her vision and Claire sees Charlie looking at her with a heartbreakingly beautiful smile.

"It's time for you to go, Claire."

"Wait—"

She grabs onto his hands, relieved that she can still touch him.

"I don't want to leave yet, not so soon."

"It's time, Claire, time to live again."

The light is much brighter now, and she finds it hard to see him.

"I'll lose you again..."

She's crying.

"You can never lose me, Claire. I'm right here."

She closes her eyes and feels his hand stroking her hair, tucking errant strands behind her ear.

"I love you," she whispers, tears coming to her eyes again.

There's a great flash of light and then there's the whining of jet engines.

"...I love _you_," he replies.

She feels a pair of lips on her forehead.

There's a ghostly whisper of his voice, "I'll see you soon."

And then he's gone.

She's sitting again and she can faintly make out the shape of Kate looking at her. Claire's head and emotions are a jumbled mess as she shifts her eyes back onto Kate.

"Now come on," the brunette pleads. "Let's go."

She nods robotically and allows herself to be pulled up. They're running, desperation fuelling their legs. The motions are all a blur to her as the trio boards Ajira 316 and strap themselves in. Claire glances through her window at the beach again, hoping to catch the glimpse of dirty blond hair, but there's nothing.

And then she's gone.

* * *

><p>Claire walks up the drive slowly, making sure to avoid any icy patches she can't see. She takes special care to walk around the wet marks she can see on the pavement, but makes a mental note of the salt crystals sprayed evenly along the path. She smiles to herself at the care the owner of the house has taken; she always did teach him well.<p>

The sounds of the living room reach through the walls to her ears as she stands outside the thick brown door. She raises her hand to push the doorbell, pausing only to enjoy the sounds of laughter emanating from her right, and waits patiently for someone to answer. Voices come closer to the door and she can hear a heavy set of footsteps approach. The door swings open and Claire is greeted to the sight of a tall blond haired man with strikingly blue eyes all too similar to her own.

"Mum!"

She smiles and steps in towards the much taller man for a hug, "Hello, Turniphead."

Claire steps back and admires the man her son has grown into. Although he turned 35 two months ago, she doesn't think he minds the fact that his mother still calls him by a childish nickname from time to time. Especially since she's constantly reminded him growing up that it's the only tangible thing his father left either of them; his _real_ father. Aaron has only met Thomas a few times, but they usually devolve into shouting matches between herself and her ex-boyfriend. It still helps Claire get through her tougher days – days when she just misses Charlie so much – to think of Aaron breaking Thomas' nose coming to the defence of his mother after a particularly snide remark. That had been the last either of them had seen of Thomas.

A waving hand in front of her face breaks Claire out of her reverie and she realises that she's been staring for just a bit too long. She makes her way inside the house as Aaron takes her coat.

"It smells delicious, Aaron," she remarks. "I'm going to assume that Kate's already arrived, then?"

Her son chuckles behind her before leading her towards the family room, "That's a low blow, I'll let you know my cooking skills have improved dramatically."

"If you mean since last Sunday, then I'll be very shocked."

The pair shares a quiet laugh between them before Claire stops her son by grabbing onto his upper arm. "How are you doing? I haven't had the chance to talk with you yet, Aaron. This _is _the first Christmas since..."

She trails off, not knowing how to voice her concern.

Aaron smiles down at her, his eyes cloudy, "I'm doing alright, mum. I was more worried about Charley, but with you moving closer recently, and Kate coming to visit, she hasn't had much time to dwell on things, I don't think."

Claire feels her heart clench uncomfortably at the sound of _his _name, but her face shows none of it. Instead, she looks behind Aaron at a hanging photograph of her son with a beautiful woman and baby. Sarah had been such a wonderful individual. Perhaps it's the destiny of all Littleton parents to raise their children by themselves, she muses darkly.

They soon find themselves in the family room and Claire sees the reason she moved all the way from her comfortable flat in Sydney to chilly and all–too–wet Vancouver. Charlene Littleton–Pace is an energetic seven year old, and upon spotting her self–proclaimed "favourite" grandparent, she rushes forward and is caught in a hug by Claire.

"Gran'ma Claire! You're finally here! Merry Christmas!"

Claire laughs and puts Charlene down on the ground again, "Hello Charlene, a Merry Christmas to you too."

The grandmother can't help but marvel at the fact that sometimes, when the light is just right – like it is in this instance – Charlene's eyes capture a glint that reminds her all too well of Charlie. Her heart skips a beat each time.

Charlene makes a face, "Gran'ma! You know I don't like to be called that."

"Yes, yes," Claire says absentmindedly as she fixes her granddaughter's hair, trying to ignore the child's penchant for dredging up old memories. "There, all fixed now Charley."

The tiny blonde girl grabs her by the hand and starts dragging her towards the kitchen, "C'mon, I know Gran'ma Kate wanted to see you just as badly as I did."

Claire allows herself to be lead all the way to the kitchen, but glances back to see her son grinning at her amusedly. Charlene stomps her way to the kitchen in a pair of bright purple gumboots and Claire inwardly laughs at her choice of footwear. Arriving at their destination, Claire laughs at the sight of Kate Austen hustling around opening cabinets and grabbing cutlery.

"Hello, Kate."

The older woman looks up and smiles, "Claire!"

The two women embrace and Claire can't help but feel a twinge of envy at the way Kate looks, even in her 60s. Aaron appears in the kitchen and lifts Charlene up onto his shoulders and takes her away to the television, allowing the two friends to chat while they prepare for Christmas dinner. Their conversation is comfortable, light, but skirts around each woman's more sensitive issues. For as much peace Claire has made with Charlie, Kate knows better than to mention him in any kind of passing. Likewise, the blonde avoids any talks of her brother around the older brunette. The wounds are too deep, and both women have learned to soldier on in spite of it all.

* * *

><p>Claire finishes washing the last of the dishes when she hears the doors close. She wipes her hands on a kitchen towel and meets Aaron in the family room, where the two of them sit. He's carrying Charlene in his arms, the child having drifted off to sleep sometime after dessert and during the post-dinner conversation.<p>

He's giving her a look that reminds her of times long past when, as a teenager, he had asked her quite bluntly why she hadn't met someone else. She remembers sitting him down at the dining table, him with a questioning look on his face at her contemplative silence, and her trying to find the best words to describe her feelings.

"Aaron," she had started. "Sometimes...it's just hard to meet the right person in your life to make such a commitment."

"I'm not even talking about marriage, mum. Just going on a couple dates or something like that!"

She didn't have the heart to tell him that, yes; she had gone on a couple of dates since leaving the island and coming back to society. None of them had felt right to her, and she had long since given up on ever finding that feeling again.

"I don't need to go on any dates when I've got you, Turniphead."

He had grown angry at her statement, perhaps frustrated by her continual avoidance of his question. "I just want you to be happy, mum! Is that really so hard?"

It is, she had thought. It's hard to find someone who loves you unconditionally, so much so that they would die for you.

"When you've been in love," she opted to say instead. "Actual...real...spectacular, consciousness altering love...then you'll know why Aaron."

He was quiet and just stood there in the kitchen in his shorts.

And she's afraid that he does understand, now.

"Mum, are you alright?"

Aaron's voice shakes her from her recollections once again and Claire regrets the fact that she's spent so much of today reflecting on old memories. She smiles and gives her son a nod, but he still looks at her concernedly.

"It's getting dark, mum. Why don't you spend the night?"

She begins to protest but stops short at his look. She grins at him and closes the distance between them to give him a kiss on the cheek. He leans down to make the process easier for her and as he stands up straight again, adjusting Charlene in his arms – her mouth open and drool making a dark patch on his shoulder – as he goes, Claire feels her heart swell.

"I love you Aaron."

He gives her a quizzical look in return.

"I love you too, mum."

She follows him up the stairs and watches as he puts Charlene to bed. She walks up to the side of the bed after the girl is settled and plants a loving kiss on her forehead. Claire smoothes her granddaughter's hair again before straightening herself and walking out of the room, closing the door behind her. She kisses her son on the cheek once again before heading off into the guest bedroom.

It happens when she's done washing her face.

Claire is staring into the mirror, lamenting the grey hairs that seem to sprout up more and more each day when she feels a pressure in her chest. It's a kind of pressure she's never felt before, like someone is sitting on her, and she knows that something is wrong. There's shortness in her breath and no matter how hard she tries or how deep she breathes, Claire can't seem to fill her lungs with enough oxygen. She reaches for the ceramic cup next to the sink, and fills it with water. Her hand shakes as she brings the cup to her lips and she can only take a small sip before the cup slips from her hands and falls to the ground, shattering.

"Mum?"

She hears the questioning tone in Aaron's voice, but it sounds as if it's very far away. Claire collapses to the ground herself when the pressure grows more intense and the door the washroom bursts open and she sees her son standing there, a look of panic growing on his face.

"Mum!"

He dashes away from the door and returns quickly, mobile phone clutched in his hand and pressed to his ear. He's speaking, quickly and in a hurried tone but Claire can't hear him. She stares at his face, trying to memorise every detail.

This is it, she thinks.

But she's not scared.

A great flash of light obliterates his image and instead she finds herself sitting on a couch, some drums pounding in the background and her stomach is enormous. Kate is sitting in front of her, looking much more youthful than when she saw her earlier in the evening. Claire can't make out what's going on but all she knows is that there's a feeling of peace. It is as if she's a passenger in her own mind and body. She notices the sweat on her arms and her hands clutching at her stomach and Claire numbly realises that she must be giving birth. But there's no pain, no overwhelming pressure. In fact, she finds that she can't really feel much of anything at all. She sees a figure move to her left and her head turns involuntarily towards it.

She sees him. Charlie. And her heart races and swells with such happiness.

"Who are you?" she hears herself ask.

Charlie opens his mouth to reply when Claire's senses are assaulted by a giant blast. She feels like she's in a windstorm, but above it all she can hear Aaron's voice, booming down from above.

"MUM! IT'S ME. ARE YOU WITH ME MUM?"

She finds that she can't respond.

"MUM, PLEASE!"

The wind dies down and Claire now finds herself holding Aaron, still covered in vernix. She had forgotten how tiny he was. Charlie steps into view again and Claire can't keep her eyes off him. He's holding a blanket and he can't seem to be able to look away from her as well.

There's another blast, and the wind is stronger now. She sees the faint outline of a shower head and a worried face before it's gone.

"MUM, STAY WITH ME OKAY? THE AMBULANCE IS ON ITS WAY."

Charlie is closer now, right in front of her. Claire's arm rises all by itself and she still can't feel much of anything. He mumbles something and as her fingers curl around his, warmth grows from their contact and spreads through Claire's body.

She feels herself drifting away.

There are no blasts, no wind.

No couch, no dull thump-thump-thump of the drums.

She's not lying on the bathroom floor.

She's not lying on a couch backstage.

There is only Charlie.

His eyes widen.

"Charlie," Claire whispers.

And then she's gone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well, after years of putting it off, I finally jumped on the LOST bandwagon, and I'm glad that I did. I wasn't able to stop watching once I started and I finished the entire series in a matter of weeks. Such a character driven show, it is the interactions between them that really makes this show special. I just knew I had to start writing in the LOST fandom, and why not start with my favourite couple? The thing that attracted me to PB&J was the emulation of a true family. For a recovering heroin addict and a reluctant mother, there is no stronger message of redemption.

It was my first time trying to write something that spawned from live-action, and the experience itself was a bit different. I obviously tried to capture the nuances in the relationship between Claire and Charlie, and tried to explore possibilities and paths that the show simply didn't have time for. Like, how could Claire's mind have changed so quickly from Kate's short speech? Was Claire ever grieving for Charlie? Did she ever get any closure before purgatory? What was the Man in Black's influence on Claire like? I tried to capture all of that in this piece, but I always welcome criticism and comments.

And yes, Claire's death scene at the end was an homage to Juliet's, where her consciousness floated between reality and purgatory. I tried to capture that as best I could because I found that really cool when I saw it.

Let me know what you guys think!


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